Like a Rolling Stone
by IcedCoffeeInWinter
Summary: Randy Adderson knows that he's changing, but all his friends are staying the same. Now that Bob is gone and his life has been turned upside-down, he has to figure out what to do next. It's not as easy as he thought it would be.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

_Once upon a time, you dressed so fine.  
__Threw the bums a dime, in your prime.  
__Didn't you?  
__People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall".  
__You thought that they were all a-kiddin you._

You always thought that you'd go out with a bang. That slow burn, gradually fizzling out bullshit just wasn't for you. You first got that idea when you were seven, and you had to watch the cancer slowly eat away at your grandpa. You just didn't get it. Over the course of two years, he went from the fun grandpa who would put you on his shoulders to play airplane with you and slip you a silver dollar when your parents weren't looking to a skeletal, hollowed-out version of himself. What was the appeal in dying slowly? Why subject yourself to all that pain?

You stopped thinking that way after a while. You guessed you just grew out of it. But then in junior high, you met Bob Sheldon. Even at thirteen, he was wild and energetic. He was a totally crazy kid, and he had this magnetism that made everyone want to be his friend. If he jumped off a bridge, you knew everyone else would too. You don't know why he chose you to be his best friend, because the two of you were as opposite as you could get. Bob was an only child, and even back then you had the notion that his existence wasn't planned. His parents didn't seem to know what to do with him. They gave him whatever he wanted without a second thought, and when he got caught stealing pop from the dime store, they didn't even punish him. Somehow they got it into their heads that it was _their _fault. When he turned sixteen, his father gave him a brand new Sting Ray, and he crashed it two weeks later because he was driving drunk. His father bought him a new Mustang the next day.

But your parents were different. You were the second youngest of four, so they knew what to do with you. They spoiled you some, sure, but not as much as Bob's parents. And if you had been caught stealing anything, you know your father would have whipped you good. And, yeah, you had a Mustang too, but you had to help your dad grade final papers to get it. One hundred papers on the Socratic method. Twenty pages each. You hated thinking about how Bob was out cruising around in his car while you were stuck inside. You envied him.

At fifteen, when you were still in junior high, Bob took you to your first high school party. He drank like a pro even then, and he explained to you that he stole from his parents' liquor cabinet. He was shocked that you didn't do the same. At sixteen, partying hard and driving around rip roarin' drunk was a common occurrence for the two of you.

You remember screaming, "you're gonna kill us, Bob!" one night as he sped around a curve at an unsettlingly high speed.

"Life's too short to be scared of dyin'!" he'd replied.

And then, through your drunken haze, you remembered being seven. You wanted to go out fast. You wanted your last memory to be of something fun. What was stopping you? Why not start thinking that way again? So you did. You lived in the moment as much as you could. You fed off Bob's energy and aura of danger, and even when he got out of control, you still loved it. Nothing could beat the rush. Your parents said he was bad for you, and that he was bringing you down. You didn't believe them back then. You should have known they would be right.

Now, as you watch the incense burning down, you wish you had never met Bob Sheldon. Six months later, you're still reliving that night in the park. You're always thinking about what you could have done, but you don't know if it would have made a difference. You could have left with Marcia, you could have driven Bob home or said that he wasn't welcome in your car because he was so drunk. But you know that you were just as drunk as he was. Beating up those greasers seemed like a good idea at the time. You sigh. Adults are always saying that it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. You're finding out that it's all fun and games until someone gets killed.

You remember how Bob said that life was too short to be scared of dying. You can't stop wondering, as that hood stood over him with his knife, if he was scared of dying then.

Your incense stick goes out, but you don't want to get up to light a new one. There's already a thin layer of smoke hovering over your room, so it's only a matter of time until your mother comes in and fusses at you about how it's bothering her allergies.

School is almost out. You'll be a senior next year, and you know that you're doing exactly what you promised yourself you wouldn't do. You're fizzling, slowly but surely fading out. This town is dragging you down. You can't go anywhere without being reminded of Bob, and you see that Ponyboy Curtis kid every day at school. Sometimes you think about talking to him, but you usually just turn your head and walk in the other direction. You've got to forget your past, and being friends with him will only make you dwell on it.

But you just don't know what you can do. You've been thinking about going to California and living in one of those free love communes. People around here think they're sinful and weird, but you don't think they sound half bad. Everyone living together in peace and tolerance would be a welcome change from all the hate in Tulsa. Even after the big rumble, there's still heavy tension between the greasers and Socs. You feel like you're walking on eggshells, and it's driving you crazy.

None of your friends get you any more. You can even see in Marcia's eyes that she's falling out of love with you. You can't shake this feeling that you're changing, and no one else is changing with you. You can't go on pretending that you're the same person you were six months ago. But if you change, you know that you could lose everyone close to you, everyone you've ever cared about, and it's absolutely terrifying. You're only seventeen. You're too young for these kinds of decisions. But you know you've got to make them.

* * *

I know I've posted this story before, but I decided to do some editing, and the last time I updated it was so long ago that all the documents for it that I had in document manager had expired. I'm sure there was probably a way to change it, but I'm bad with computers, so it was just easier for me to scrap it and restart.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed before! Reviews are still always appreciated! :)

And just in case you didn't know, S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Bob Dylan owns Like a Rolling Stone.


	2. Chapter 2

_My weariness amazes me.  
__I am branded on my feet.  
__I have no one to meet.  
__And the ancient, empty street's too dead for dreaming._

You can't figure out why you're so tired. School has been out for two weeks, so you've had plenty of time to catch up on the sleep you lost during finals. You're not even running around doing stuff with your friends. You've turned down invitations to go to the lake, cruising around town, and to countless movies in favor of sitting alone in your bedroom. You've only been out once with Marcia since summer started. You had a terrible time and ended up fighting for half of the date. You haven't called her since, and you guess that you're broken up. Maybe you'll call her one of these days, but you just can't seem to get the motivation. You can't help but think of that fateful night at the drive-in, where she hit it off with that big greaser who was in your social studies class. It was his second time being a junior in high school, and you wondered why he didn't just drop out. When he didn't come back for spring semester that was what you assumed he did. Marcia talked about him on occasion, and it made your stomach turn. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but sometimes you got jealous of him.

The door to your bedroom opens, and your little sister walks in. She's fifteen and the baby of the family. She's also the only girl. Out of all your brothers and sisters, you and her are the closest. You two are still at home while your two older brothers are off at college. You love her, but you're not in the mood to socialize.

"Janie," you say. "I thought you knew how to knock."

You realize that she couldn't have knocked even if she wanted to. She's holding a giant glass bowl that's filled with water. Glass marbles sit on the bottom, and there's a little plastic thing buried in them that you guess is supposed to be a plant. She sets the bowl down on your nightstand.

"You need something to cheer you up," she says. "So I got you a pet. His name is Archie."

You look into the bowl and see that there's a bright blue beta fish swimming around. You had one when you were little, and you forgot to feed it. You never were one for pets.

"I don't even get to name my own fish?" you ask.

Janie shrugs, "he just looks like an Archie to me."

You watch the fish swimming in its bowl for a few minutes. It looks good in your bedroom. It matches your quilt. It also matches your car, for that matter.

"I didn't ask you to get me a pet," you say.

"I told you already, I thought you could use one," Janie says. "You'll be less lonely."

You can't help laughing. You know you're bad off, but you're not so low that you need a fish to be your best friend. You can't tell Janie that, though. You know she probably spent a part of her allowance on it, and you're sure it'll die in a couple of weeks anyway.

"Well, thanks," you say.

"Sure. You wanna' do something?" she asks.

You shake your head and get up from your bed. "No. There's somethin' I've gotta' do."

Janie doesn't ask questions. She just watches you go.

XXX

Marcia's house isn't far, so you decide to walk. It doesn't dawn on you that she might not be home. It's summer, and she's not the type to sit around doing nothing when she could be doing something fun. You should have taken your car so you can go looking for her if she's not home. You've got to talk to her now. You don't want to wait.

You see her car out front, but that doesn't mean much. Someone could have picked her up and taken her out. You figure you'll go knock on the door anyway. If she's not there, her parents might know where she went.

"Well hello, Randy!" Marcia's mother says. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Yes, m'am," you say. "I've been keeping to myself these days."

"Well, it's nice to see you again," she says. "Marica is upstairs in her room."

You open the door without knocking. She's sitting on the floor painting her toenails. She jumps when you walk in.

"Randy," she says. She wasn't expecting to see you. She probably wasn't expecting to see you ever again.

You close the door behind you. "We need to talk."

She laughs. "I'll say we do. What the hell, Randy? You think that you can just take me out and then not call me for a week and a half? I know we're going steady, but it just doesn't work like that."

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry. I'm just … not myself these days."

She starts to put another coat of polish on her nails. "That's putting it pretty lightly, don't you think."

You sigh and sit down next to her. "Yeah, maybe."

"All I get is a 'yeah, maybe'?"

"What do you want me to say, Marica?" you ask.

"I don't know, Randy," she says. "I don't know that there's anything you can say. You're different now."

"I lost my best friend."

"I know. And I tried to understand, but it's been almost eight months since it happened. If you're not done grieving by now, you probably never will be."

You notice that she's not wearing your class ring on a chain around her neck like she normally does. At first you think it's because she's not out somewhere, but then you realize that's not it. As far as she's concerned, you two are finished.

"You've changed," she says.

There's no point in fighting it. "Yeah. And I don't think I mind it."

Marcia stands up and takes your ring off her dresser. You take it from her.

"Goodbye, Randy," she says. "If you ever get your head on straight, give me a call."

"I've already got my head on straight," you say.

You slam the door behind you, leave Marica's house without saying goodbye to her mother, and run all the way home. It's not until you're in your room, lying on your bed, and staring at your fish that you realize you're crying.

* * *

Bob Dylan owns Mr. Tambourine Man. And I still love reviews :)


	3. Chapter 3

_You say I let you down.  
__You know it's not like that.  
__If you're so hurt,  
__Why then don't you show it?_

Summer is halfway over, and you haven't seen much of your friends. You make excuses whenever they call you. You're not feeling well, you need to help your dad with something in the yard, or you're working on college applications. They're all true, but you could have seen your friends if you wanted to. You're not _that _busy. You think they're starting to get the hint that you don't want to see them because their phone calls are getting less frequent. Eventually, they'll probably stop completely. You're almost afraid of how much you don't care. The only person you've really hung out with is Janie. You went to get ice cream and see a movie one night. She said that she had fun, and you don't doubt it, but she also seemed like she pitied you. You know that she has every reason to.

You're not at home all the time because that would make your parents start to worry. You tell them different lies about where you're going, but you always go to the same place when you leave the house.

The park, admittedly, is weird for you. It's the place where Bob spent his last few moments. You, unfortunately, had to watch them. You always look up at the sky and pick up your pace as you walk past the fountain. You can't stand looking at it. You know that the city has cleaned the spot probably twenty times, but there's still a small bloodstain on the concrete. You don't think it will ever come out, but maybe that's how it should be. If there's something to remind people that you can actually _die_, then maybe the kids won't get into so much trouble. Maybe they won't turn into fuck-ups like you.

The hippies sit in a patch of shade under some oak trees. Their number varies by the day. Sometimes there are five, and you've seen as many as twenty, but the average number is about ten. They always look so happy, like they don't know anything other than having fun. You sit a few yards away from them and pretend to read a book for a few hours, but really you're watching them. Sometimes they bring guitars and sing songs, sometimes they bring transistor radios and dance. They take pictures of each other, they read poetry, and they talk about politics. You envy them and their happiness. Today a girl has face paint, and she's drawing designs on the other people's faces. Today, you're going to talk to them. You want nothing more than to be one of them.

You're suddenly a self-conscious kindergartener again as you walk slowly past the spot where you usually sit and start toward the group of hippies. You can't remember the last time you tried to make friends with total strangers, and you're not sure that you remember how to do it. When you asked Barry Brady if you could be his friend in kindergarten, he kicked sand in your face. You hope this won't end up the same way.

You're suddenly in front of the group, and they're all looking up at you expectantly. The girl with the face paint is smiling one of the most genuine, warm smiles you've ever seen.

"Well, hello," she says. Her voice is smooth, and somehow it reminds you of honey. "We were wondering if you'd ever join us."

You can feel your cheeks starting to turn red. You're embarrassed that they caught you watching, but the girl doesn't seem to care. She just keeps smiling at you as she motions to the spot on the blanket next to her.

"Come, join us," she says. "I'll read your aura."

It's the weirdest invitation you've ever received, but you're not in a place to turn her down. You sit down next to her, and you realize that the whole group is staring at you. It's not hard stares, though. They seem inquisitive and inviting. They want to learn everything they can about you.

"What's your name, man?" a guy who looks about your age asks. He's wearing jean shorts and a fringe vest with no shirt underneath. His shoes are falling apart, and you realize how out of place you look.

"I'm Randy," you say.

He nods. "It's nice to know you, Randy. My name is Mick."

He goes around the circle and introduces you to everyone else. There are three guys named Mark, Eric, and Steve, and two girls named Susan and Maggie. You're marveling at how normal their names are because you thought they all had crazy names like Sunshine and Rainbow, but then the girl with the face paint offers her hand to you.

"You can call me Daisy," she says.

"Is that your real name?" you ask. The group snickers, and you guess that it probably isn't.

"What is reality, really?" she says.

"The reality is that the pour soul is named Gertrude," Mick says. "And who wouldn't want to change that name?"

Everyone in the group laughs, and you feel a deeper connection to them than you ever felt to your other friends. Daisy cups your face in her hands and stares intently at you.

"You've known a great sadness," she says. "You are very alone and drifting."

A chill runs up your spine. "That's spooky," you say. "How'd you do that?"

She's stirring her brush in a pot of green paint. "I have a gift."

"That she does," the guy named Eric says. He's dressed the same way as Mick. If you're going to hang out with them, you'll need new clothes.

You sit still as Daisy paints your face. The brush tickles, and you try your hardest not to flinch. She has a look in her eyes that's both totally focused on you and a million miles away. It dawns on you that she's probably stoned. After a few minutes, she puts the brush down and picks up a mirror. You smile when you see what she's done. You look nothing like yourself, and you love it.

You sit in the park and talk with them until the sun starts to set. They're going back to the house where they all live, and they invite you to join. You're tempted, but you decline. The face paint is starting to itch, and you want to wash it off.

"It's been nice getting to know you, Randy," Daisy says. "We'll be looking for you tomorrow."

You smile at her. "You won't have to look far. I'll be here."

XXX

You're almost home when a car pulls up beside you, and the driver starts honking the horn. You forget what's on your face, and you turn to look at them. It's Charlie, Garry, and Donald. They were your best friends besides Bob. They do a double take when they see your face, and then they motion for you to pull over.

"Come to my place," Donald yells from his car. "We gotta' talk, man."

"Have you seen my face?" you ask.

"Look, it's not my fault that you decided to join the circus. We gotta' talk, and we gotta' do it _now._"

You know that you could just go home. You don't care about these people or what they have to say any more. But you're curious about what they want, so you follow them the remaining few blocks to Donald's house. He grabs you by the collar and practically pushes you inside. The first thing he does is take you to the bathroom and hand you a towel and a bar of soap.

"Take that shit off," he says. "You look fucking ridiculous."

You obey, but only because you were planning on washing it off anyway. It makes you sad to watch the colors run down the drain, and when you look up, you're your old self again. You don't like it one bit. As soon as your face is clean, he leads you up to his bedroom and closes the door behind you. He, Charlie, and Garry are all staring at you. They look angry, and you wonder if they brought you here to beat you senseless.

"Look, Randy," Donald starts. "You liked Bob the best out of all of us. We get it. But that's not an excuse to just start ignoring us. I mean, we're your friends too."

You're speechless. Charlie picks up where he left off.

"We wanted to give you your space when Bob first died," he says. "We knew you needed time alone to get your shit together. It's to be expected. But you just … never got it together. And what's this I hear about you breaking up with Marcia? What the hell, man? What's going on with you?"

Garry's face is inches away from yours, and you can tell that he's seething mad. "You never liked us, did you? You were only friends with Bob, and you just tolerated us because you had to. You're such a pretentious ass, Randy. You and Bob both."

You want to punch him, but you control your anger. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"We're talking about how you think you can just blow us off," Donald says. "You think that since Bob died you're out of the group? That hurts, man. We didn't fucking do anything to you."

You can't help laughing. "Yeah, you didn't do anything. I needed you guys and you just went on with your lives. How the hell was I supposed to know you were mad? You sure as shit didn't show it."

"Well, if you were looking for an invitation to come back, consider this it," Charlie says. "You're free to start hanging out with us again."

You stand up and push past them. You've made up your mind. You don't need them anymore. Tomorrow you're going to go hang out in the park with the hippies, and you don't care what anyone thinks. These people aren't your friends, and you wonder how they ever were.

"Thank you for the invitation," you say. "But I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

Their speechlessness is music to your ears. You leave Donald's house for what you know will be the last time and get into your car. Until now, you've been living the life that people wanted for you. You had an identity that was created by your friends, and you have nothing to show for it except a dead best buddy, a pricey car, and expensive clothes. It's time for you to start living the life you want. You're going to be your own person, and you've never felt so free.

* * *

Positively Forth Street is my favorite Bob Dylan song. I hope none of you have ever been stabbed in the back by so-called friends, but if you have, it's a great song to listen to. He really captures how that feels. Look it up! And believe it or not, reviews still make my day!


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, I try my best to be just like I am.  
__But everybody wants you to be just like them._

The Rotary Club Christmas soirée is always the event of the year, but it's an even bigger deal now than it has been in years past. Your mother is in charge. She's been going crazy planning since before school started. She's always running around going to different meetings or tying up the phone line talking to caterers or trying to talk other members of the Tulsa elite into donating to whatever cause it is they're helping this year. You couldn't care less. You're just grateful that your mother has something to keep her busy. She pays less attention to you this way.

You've grown your hair out long like the hippies, and you've taken up their uniform of ragged jeans and fringe suede jackets. Your parents flipped their lids the first time they saw you dressed like that. You told them it was just what's in. Everyone is dressing like this these days. It's partly true. Some version of the hippie style has caught on with almost everyone. You just take it to an extreme. They mostly leave you alone about your looks now. Your father makes an occasional crack about you looking more like a girl than Janie, and your mother just tells you that you'll need to change clothes in a hurry if any family ever drops by.

But it's not so much the clothes that you're worried about them harping on. It's how you leave school every day and go straight to the hippie house. It's how you don't eat dinner at home much any more. It's how you're out later than ever before on the weekends, and sometimes you come home bleary-eyed and smelling of pot. You don't know if they can't see through your paper-thin lies or if they just want to avoid an unpleasant conversation. It's not like them to avoid something like that. Maybe your mother really is that busy with her party planning, and your father is just that swamped with work. You're not in a place to question it. You wanted the freedom to be your own person, and that's what you got.

XXX

You were hoping that your mother wouldn't make you go to the Christmas soirée, but that is exactly where you are the first Friday of winter break. You stand off to the side and watch everyone mingle. You're hot and uncomfortable in your tuxedo and dress shoes that have gotten too tight. You can't stop thinking about the hippie house, and how you would much rather be there.

Mostly adults talk to you. They ask about your college plans, and you always reply that you're still undecided. A few offer their condolences about Bob, and you just nod your head. That was over a year ago now, but it still hurts like it was yesterday. You know they mean well, but you wish that they would just leave it alone. You wonder if they brought it up with his family too.

You watch some of your former friends trying to sneakily drink from a bottle of schnapps that someone brought in. A couple of years ago, Bob would have been the one smuggling in the liquor. You would have been drinking with the rest of them. But now you just stand and watch from a distance. Marcia is on Donald's arm, and you're not surprised. He's been knocking himself out trying to get her attention for a good month. You don't care any more. He can have her.

Your mother gets up in front of everyone to make her speech. It turns out that this event was to raise money to give needy families a Christmas dinner. Everyone is applauding and acting so pleased with themselves, but you're disgusted. You look around at everyone with their designer clothes and expensive champagne, and it all seems fake. Even when they're being altruistic, it's still all about them. You leave the room in a huff. The last thing you hear before you slip out the front doors is your mom thanking her family for all their support. You roll your eyes. There's a family you'd rather be with.

XXX

The front door is unlocked like it always is, and you find Mick, Daisy, and Susan sprawled out on blankets in front of the fireplace. The radio is on, but the station is only broadcasting dead air. A floorboard pops under your feet, and Mick sits up. He motions you over to him.

"What happened here?" you ask as you eye the two sleeping girls.

"They went to bed early so Santa would come," Mick replied with a smirk.

"Ten days early?"

Mick laughs and grabs the hookah. "This is the best weed I've ever had. Knocked them out, but I guess I just handle it better, man. I dunno."

You inhale deep, hold your breath until you're sure your lungs will explode, and then breathe out. You repeat the process several times. Mick is smiling at you.

"Good, huh?"

"Not good enough after the night I've had," you reply. You take another hit.

Mick snorts. "Yeah, you couldn't get me high enough to spend a night with those society people."

He takes the hose from you and takes a long hit. "Not that I'm trying to insult you or anything."

"I wasn't offended," you say. You take the hose back.

"Can't believe you used to be one of them, Randy."

"Hate that they still want me to be one of them. I mean, not the kids my age. They leave me alone. But my parents and their friends, y'know? All night long they were asking me about college and girls and talking about all this stupid shit. And all I could think was, 'this doesn't matter'. You know what I mean?"

"I know _exactly_ what you mean," Mick says

Mick is from one of the poorest neighborhoods in Oklahoma City, and he left home when he was sixteen. He has no idea what you're talking about.

"No you don't," you say.

Mick laughs, "You're right. I sure as hell don't."

The two of you come from vastly different backgrounds, but you like Mick the best out of everyone in the house. You hang out with him the most, you can talk to him the easiest, and the two of you tease each other like you and Bob used to. You know you'll never forget Bob, but Mick does a good job of filling the hole that he left behind.

"You staying tonight?" Mick asks.

You look up at the clock. It's after midnight. You know that your parents have been busy, but you're sure that they've noticed that you haven't come home by now.

"I'm sure my folks are missing me."

"Let 'em miss you," Mick says.

You sigh and think about how miserable you were before you came here. You're in no hurry to go home.

"Yeah," you say. "All right."

"Cool," Mick says. He holds the hookah hose out to you. "More dope?"

* * *

Bob Dylan owns _Maggie's Farm_.

I always love reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

_Come mothers and fathers  
__Throughout the land.  
__And don't criticize  
__What you can't understand._

Tensions have been building between you and your parents since Christmas break. With your mother's parties over for a while, your father's big projects completed, and Janie taking extra ballet classes, you're back in the spotlight. You think that they must be making up for all the times during the fall and winter that they didn't pick on you. Suddenly your clothes are an issue again. Your father calls you out more and more on your hair. They interrogate you every day on how your college plans are coming and if you're seeing any one. They go as far as setting you up with some of their friends' daughters. You hate to do it, but you always show them a terrible time. You don't want to see girls like them ever again.

Everyone at the hippie house can tell that you're down about something. Mick gets you drunk or stoned, and the two of you listen to Bob Dylan albums as loud as you can. Sometimes it makes you feel better, but sometimes you think it makes everything worse. Daisy has you do weird forms of meditation. She thinks you're upset because you're out of touch with your spirit guide or something. It doesn't make much sense to you, and you don't put much stock in it. Everyone in the house thinks she's too out there for her own good anyway.

But one night she has you do automatic writing exercises, and you come up with three pages of 'I want out'. That's when you know. Maybe she's not so crazy after all.

XXX

You know that something is up when your parents call you into your father's study after dinner. It's the night after your high school graduation, and all of your relatives have just left town. Janie gives you a look that you can't read and then goes up to her bedroom. She knows something you don't, and you wish that you could ask her. But your parents are standing in the doorway, waiting for you. You sigh and follow them in.

Your parents sit down on the loveseat, and you sit in your father's desk chair. It's quiet for a few minutes. Your father fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves, and your mother looks intently at a burn mark that your father's pipe left on the carpet. You remember that day. You'd never seen your mother so angry. She yelled for what felt like hours, and then told your father that he couldn't smoke inside any more. He finally quit during the winter. He hated standing outside in the cold.

"Son," he finally says. You look up at him.

"Dad," you reply.

"We need to have a little chat," he says.

"I figured so much," you reply. "But about what?"

"About your life choices," your father says. "Your mother and I feel that the ones you've been making lately leave something to be desired."

"Uh-huh," you say. "And what do you want me to do about that, exactly?"

"Well, we want you to shape up, of course," your father says.

"Shape up?" you repeat.

"Yes, shape up," your father says.

"I'm afraid I just don't understand," you say.

"Honestly, Randy, do I have to spell it all out for you? You need to make a solid decision about college. You need to start dating again. You need to cut your hair and go back to wearing clothes that aren't so ridiculous."

"I told you, dad, this is the style now."

"That may be what you say, but I see the neighborhood kids too. And they don't look like they went shopping in a trash can like you do."

"Maybe you're looking at the wrong kids," you say.

"That could just as easily go for you, too," your father says.

You sigh. "Ok, you want me to make a decision about college? I'll make a decision about college. I'm going to Tulsa and I'm majoring in English. I decided that a long time ago. They're giving me a full ride."

"This is just what I mean," your father says. "You're going to the local college and choosing a fluff major. You're not challenging yourself, Randy. You used to say you would go to Oklahoma State and major in business."

"Well, I changed my mind," you reply.

"And what about those girls I set you up with?" your father asks.

"What about them?" you ask.

"Whatever happened to them? Why didn't that work out? You and Marcia have been broken up for quite some time now."

"We just didn't get along. That's all."

"That's not what they told their parents. They said you were rude and inattentive. And let me tell you something, that's _not_ the kind of thing I want to hear about my son. I have a reputation to uphold. I won't let you go around tarnishing the Adderson name."

"I could get a name change if that's what you want."

The room suddenly becomes a vacuum. Your mother holds her breath, and your father stares daggers at you.

"Your mother and I think you should see a psychiatrist," your father says. "You haven't been the same since this business with Bob. It's clear the problem, whatever it is, won't take care of itself. It's high time we did something. Maybe a hefty dose of lithium will do you some good."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," you say. You stand up and walk out of the room, out of your house, and down the street. No one chases after you. You end up walking the whole ten miles to the hippie house. You stay up all night smoking and doing yoga with Daisy. She thinks you've had a breakthrough, and you agree with her. You don't know what your parents will do to you once you get home, and you honestly don't care. You know you have a safety net.

You and Daisy watch the sun rise. Mick wakes up and then drives you home in the beat-up car that everyone in the house shares. You're a bit surprised that it could make it there.

"Mick," you say once you get home. "I have a feeling I'll be back very soon. And I think I'll be staying longer than I ever have before."

"Cool, man," Mick says. "You know where to find us."

XXX

Your things are packed in bags when you get home. Your father gives you two hundred dollars and insists that it's a fair trade for the car. You both have an understanding. You shouldn't live at home any more.

XXX

That night, there's a knock on the door of the hippie house. No one ever knocks. You get up from the couch and answer the door.

"Janie," you say.

She holds the bowl out to you. "You forgot Archie."

"You can keep him, Janie."

She shakes her head. "He's almost a year old now. He's gotta spend his first birthday with his dad."

You're about to protest, but Daisy appears next to you.

"Oh, another fish!" she says. "I wonder if he'll like Clementine."

"Her goldfish," you explain to Janie. "And you can't keep these with other fish, Daisy. He'll kill them."

"Hmm. Sad how our aggressive nature has spread to the animals," she says. "I'll set him on the bookcase."

She takes Archie's bowl from Janie and walks off.

"She's a bit odd," you say to Janie.

Janie nods. She looks like she's about to cry.

"Randy," she says. "I know you think he hates you now or something, but Daddy really is upset about this. Just come home. The two of you can talk it out and everything will be fine again."

You shake your head. "Things will never be fine."

"Randy," she starts.

You shake your head. "Be good, Janie."

You don't hug her goodbye because you're afraid you won't be able to let go. You close the door, sink down to the floor, and cry.

* * *

Bob Dylan owns "The Times They are A-Changin'". I've been waiting to use that song, haha.

Reviews always make my day! :D


	6. Chapter 6

_But all the while, I was alone.  
__The past was close behind._

Life at the hippie house started out great. You couldn't have wished for anything better. There was music and love and more dope than you knew what to do with. You felt like you really belonged there. These people were your friends. And unlike the neighborhood kids you used to hang out with, these people didn't judge you. You didn't need nice clothes or a fancy car for them to like you, and you didn't have to be afraid to show emotions or share a different opinion on an issue. They liked you for you, and you were happy about that.

September came, and you decided to go ahead with college. You knew you didn't really need to because your parents weren't around to force you into it, but you had a full ride, so you figured you might as well. You got some good-natured ribbing from everyone else in the house about how you were becoming part of "the system", but you knew that it didn't really bother them. Daisy would even take your books and read them from time to time. If you could have just learned everything from home, everything would have been fine.

But of course, you had to go to campus, and not a day went by that you didn't run in to one of your old friends who had stayed in town. You never started a conversation, and neither did they. You would just act distracted and then walk away as quickly as possible. It was awkward, and you dreaded it happening, but it was a system that worked for everyone. That wasn't the worst part, though. The worst part was seeing your father every now and then. You tried your best to avoid the philosophy building, but it was the quickest way to the math and science building, and some days you just ran late. You also tried to steer clear of the dining hall and the library. The dining hall wasn't a problem, but you couldn't avoid the library forever. You had projects to work on.

Unlike your former friends, your dad actually tried to talk to you. You guess that Janie was right and he really did feel bad about kicking you out. But you didn't want to hear anything he had to say. He would try to start a conversation with you, and you would just shake your head and walk away. You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to see him ever again.

But despite seeing people you didn't want to, things were going pretty well. You should have known it wouldn't last.

XXX

March. The days are slowly starting to get longer and warmer. The snow on the ground is melting, and you're just a couple of months away from finishing your first year of college. You've decided that you'll finish this year, but you won't go back when classes resume in the fall. Things in the house have been weird lately, and you need a break.

It hasn't been the same since what happened with that kid. He was too young, and you tried to tell everyone that. But he was sweet, and everyone warmed up to him immediately. They couldn't turn him down when he asked for acid. Daisy insisted that he would be fine. She'd never had a bad trip before. But his first and only trip was a bad one, and it lasted way too long. He hasn't come back, but you see him around town every now and then. You've tried to talk to him once or twice, but he doesn't even remember you. The acid messed him up for life. He reminds you of what could have become of you. He reminds you of Bob.

Eric and Maggie both get sick of the tension and the threat of the draft and leave. They plan on settling in Montreal because they both speak some French. They say that they'll write, but you doubt it somehow. Once they're gone, it's down to you, Daisy, Susan, Steve, and Mick. Daisy talks all the time about going out to live in a commune in California, and you're tempted to join her. You've wanted to try one of them out for a while. But there's something holding you in Tulsa.

Mick is still your best friend. No matter what happens with the others, he has no intention of leaving. You feel a connection to him that you never felt with Bob, and although it makes your stomach turn a little, you wonder if there's something there besides just friendship. Whatever it is, you don't want to lose him. You already lost Bob, and you don't want to lose Mick too. If he wants to stay in Tulsa until the end of time, that's just fine with you. You'll stay there with him.

XXX

June. School is over and Daisy is gone. She went out to California, and she lives in some commune that raises pigs. She loves it, and you're trying to convince Mick to move out there with you. You say that you'll stay in Tulsa forever if he wants to, and you really will, but if he decides he wants to leave town, that's just fine with you too.

It's been a whole year since you talked to your parents, but you heard through the grapevine that Janie is going to Oklahoma State. She's planning on rushing the same sorority that your mother was in. You're happy for her, and you wish that you could talk to her. But you just don't see any way that you can.

XXX

"Randy," Mick says.

You turn around. "Oh, hey."

"You OK, man? You've just been … I don't know … Distant lately."

You shrug. "It's nothing, Mick. I've just been thinking a lot about the past, y'know?"

"Man, forget the past," Mick says. "It's over and done with."

"I know, I know."

You kick at the dirt in front of Bob's headstone. His parents have really done a good job of keeping it up, and you hope that there's some way he can see it.

"You followed me here?" you ask.

Mick shrugs and looks embarrassed. "I was just worried about you is all."

You nod. "I just came here to say goodbye. Hopefully, this time it will be for good."

"Cool, man. You want me to leave you alone?"

"No, I'm just about done here," you reply.

You take the bottle of bourbon out of the paper grocery sack and put it on top of the headstone.

"Bye, Bob," you say. "I hope we can both find our peace."

Mick pats you on the back. "Come on. I'll buy you a Coke, and we'll talk about California."

* * *

Bob Dylan owns _Tangled Up In Blue_.

I hope this story isn't moving too fast, but my intention was to make it fairly short. As always, feel free to let me know if it's not working. Reviews always make my day! :D


	7. Chapter 7

_I seen pretty people disappear like smoke.  
__Friends will arrive, friends will disappear.  
__If you want me, honey, baby,  
__I'll be here._

You and Mick have several long talks about moving to California, but nothing ever comes of it. Steve leaves the house to join Eric and Maggie in Canada, but more people come to take his place. Some people only stay a few days, but some stay weeks or even a month or more. You can't decide how you feel about the constant coming and going of people. In a way, you like the change. But in another way, you feel like as soon as you get to know someone, they leave. Daisy still writes, and she's trying her hardest to talk you and Mick into joining her in the commune. She doesn't get why you won't move out there without Mick. You're sure that she'll understand if you tell her. She is the most tolerant person you know. But it's something that even you haven't come to terms with yet. Sometimes you're too ashamed to admit it to yourself, and there's no way you'd admit it to anyone but Mick.

But even though you can't talk Mick into California, he can tell that you're getting restless in Tulsa. You've been in one place for too long, and it's starting to get to you. He gets that, and he's heard about a big musical happening up in New York. It's a long way, and you're not sure if the car will make it, but the two of you decide to give it a shot. You're both excited about the music, and it's going to give you the time away that you've been wanting.

At first, some other people from the house say that they're going. But then they learn how much tickets and their share of the gas money will be, and they decide against it. You write to Daisy asking if she wants to meet up in Tulsa and then drive to New York with you and Mick, but you don't hear back from her. In the end, it's just you and Mick going to New York. You wish that you could have saved a couple of bucks, but it's better this way. It feels right. He's the only person you really need anyway.

XXX

_August, 1969. Bethel, New York._

The scene is chaotic, to say the least. You thought this was going to be a big deal, but you never imagined this. There are people everywhere. There's music and singing and dancing and dope. People are camping out in tents or just doing everything out in the open. You've seen at least five people freaking out on acid. The rain and the mud just makes everything crazier. You think back to the person you were just two years ago, and you can't imagine him being here. Never in a million years would he and his friends gone to a hippie music festival. Not to mention that Bob would have punched you in the face if you talked to him like you talk to Mick.

You and Mick meet a group from New York City and hit it off with them immediately. You sit on top of a hill, smoke, talk about politics, and listen to the music. You're happy. You're stoned out of your mind and tired, but you've also never felt more alive. The music goes into the early hours of the morning, and after it ends, the New York City group invites you back to their tent. You and Mick decline, though. You imagine that their tent has to be crowded, and you've already turned the back of your VW bus into a makeshift bed. You'd hate for all that work to go to waste, but not as much as you'd hate to squander your only chance for real alone time with Mick.

XXX

"Randy?"

"Hmm?"

"You awake?" Mick asks.

"No, Mick. I'm very intelligently sleep talking," you reply.

He laughs. "You having fun?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. I am," he says.

"Good weed earlier, huh?" you ask.

"Yeah, real good," he replies.

It's quiet for a while, and you're just starting to drift off to sleep, but Mick starts talking again and wakes you up.

"Randy?"

"Yeah?"

"Those guys we were rappin' with earlier … Do you think they knew?"

"No, I don't think so. Or if they did, they didn't care," you reply.

Mick sighs. "What we're doing, Randy. People think it's really sick."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Just worry sometimes."

"I know, I know. But no one in the house back home knows. And if we can hide from them, we can hide from anyone."

"Guess you're right," Mick says. "Ain't easy being sick in the head, is it?"

You can't help snickering a little. "You said a mouthful."

Mick gives you a kiss on the cheek, and you feel that weird mix of disgust and happiness that you've felt off and on for the past few months. You don't know if your stomach is doing backflips because you're disgusted or elated. The truth is it's probably a mixture of both. The two of you fall asleep without another word.

XXX

It's the last day. The music is over, and you and Mick are just about ready to leave and start the drive back to Tulsa. You can tell that he's ready to get back, but you wish that you never had to leave.

You and Mick are studying the map, trying to figure out if there are any shortcuts that you missed the first time, when you hear a voice behind you screaming out your names. The two of you turn around. Your eyes get huge, and your mouth cracks a huge smile.

"Daisy?" you say. "Holy _shit_!"

You and Mick go to hug her at the same time, and it turns into a group hug. The three of you are all laughing and talking at the same time.

"I wrote to you, Daisy! What are you doing here?" you say once you can get a word in without being interrupted.

"I'm _police_ man! Dig that! They sent people from The Hog Farm out here to make sure people didn't get out of control. It's crazy! They sent us here in an airplane. It was wild, man!"

"They let the cops do acid?" Mick asks.

Daisy laughs. "No acid, man. Just some booze I brought in. And I've been totally sober since I got here, thanks. But now that my work is done, I might as well drink up, right?"

"This is wild, Daisy. I can't believe this," you say.

"Fate has its ways, man. The universe has a strange way of working. But hey, when are ya'll two moving out to California?"

Mick shrugs and Daisy turns to you. You also shrug.

"We're a package deal, Daisy," you say. "If he doesn't go, I don't go. It's gotta be a mutual decision, you know?"

"Symbiosis. I get it. Hey, I'm happy for you. But at least come visit me, all right? I gotta get back. It's good to see you."

She flashes you a peace sign, and then she's gone as quickly as she showed up. The reunion was so fast and so chaotic that you're not sure if it really happened.

"She's still just as crazy as ever," Mick says.

"Oh good. You saw her too," you reply. "For a minute there I thought I was still just stoned."

Mick laughs. "Come on, man. We've got a long trip back."

The two of you are quiet as you start out on the road. The radio is on, but it's nothing compared to what you've heard these past few days.

"Don't think I realized how much I missed her until now," Mick says.

"Who? Daisy?" you ask.

"Yeah. Hate how almost everyone is gone now. I mean, you know too, Randy. You know how much it sucks when people leave."

You nod. "I know."

There's a pause. "But you know I'm always gonna be around."

"Shut up," Mick says. But he's smiling, and you can tell that you made him happy.

"I'm gonna take a nap," you say. "Wake me up when you want me to drive."

"Will do," Mick says.

The hum of the car's engine and the way it vibrates slightly on the roads is soothing somehow, and you haven't slept much these past few days. It's not long until you're sound asleep.

* * *

Bob Dylan owns _Buckets of Rain._

Was this too much of a curveball? Is it going over OK? Feel free to tell me, even if it's criticism :)


	8. Chapter 8

_I offered up my innocence.  
__I got repaid with scorn.  
_"_Come in," she said.  
_"_I'll give you shelter from the storm."_

"Hypocrites," Mick snarls. "They're all a bunch of goddamn hypocrites."

You're just as hurt and scared as he is, but you don't know that you can call the other residents of the house hypocrites. You both knew when you started this that what you were doing was sick. You knew that the entire world found people like the two of you disgusting. But Mick got carried away and sucked into the idea of free love. You can't blame him, but you also can't help being a little mad. You thought he knew the rules. It's OK for Dolores to sleep with every guy in the house. It's even tolerated for her to have more than one guy at once. But Mick just kissing you in front of everyone else was far from OK, and you thought he knew that. You were wrong.

XXX

You think that the scene is permanently burned into your memory. Everyone was gathered in the living room. Most of you were sitting around the hookah, smoking dope and listening to a Jimi Hendrix record. Off in the corner, Delores was dancing with Jacob, and you knew that they would end up sleeping together before the night was over.

Mick did have a good tolerance for dope, but you could tell that it was starting to get to him. You were pretty high yourself. On the record, Jimi was singing about how he was bold as love, and you couldn't help envying him a little. You guess Mick felt the same way, because the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours.

When he pulled back, everyone in the room was staring at you. Delores and Jacob had stopped dancing. The song ended, and the needle moved off the record player. Finally, Oliver, one of the new guys, spoke.

"I think you two should leave."

You looked around and noticed that everyone was nodding in agreement. You stood up and offered your hand out to Mick.

"Let's get out of here."

He took your hand, and the two of you left the house without another word. You walked to a diner a few blocks away, and you've been sitting there ever since.

XXX

"God, Randy, aren't you gonna _say_ something?"

You look up from your mostly-melted milkshake and shrug your shoulders. You've just been listening to Mick vent. You don't know what to say. He's already said everything that's on your mind. Besides, you're more than a little mad at him.

"What did you think they'd do, Mick? We kept it a secret for a reason," you finally say.

He sighs. "I don't know, Randy. I honestly don't know. I wasn't thinking, I guess."

"Yeah, you really weren't, Mick."

He picks a French fry up off his plate, looks at it, and then sets it back down. The two of you lock eyes, and for the first time, you can see that he's close to crying.

"You're mad, aren't you?"

"A little," you confess. You sigh. "You got us kicked out of our house, Mick. Where are we supposed to go from here, huh?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"I mean, I've been kicked out of two houses in two years, Mick. You've gotta understand, it's getting old. And things were just fine…"

"Oh bull shit, Randy," Mick cuts you off. "Things were not fine. Free love unless you're queer. They go on and on about love yourself, love everyone, but they can't love us. They can't accept the fact that we love each other."

You're stunned. You've known for a while that you and Mick were far more than just friends. But he's never said he loved you before now, and somehow hearing it makes everything more real. You look up at him just in time to see him brush a tear away from his eye. You can't stay mad at him.

"Well," you say. "I guess this is as good a time as any to go live with Daisy in California."

Mick snickers. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

XXX

You stay in the diner until sunrise, and then take your time making your way back to the hippie house. It's been decided. You'll gather your things, and then hitchhike out to California to live with Daisy. You just hope it all goes all right.

But you can tell that something is amiss as soon as you walk in the house. It's quiet except for a record playing in the living room. And it's not the rock 'n roll that everyone listens to. It's Glenn Miller. You and Mick look at each other. There's only one person you know who likes big band music.

Daisy sits cross-legged on the living room floor, smoking weed out of the hookah. She reminds you of the caterpillar from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. She flashes a smile at you and offers the hookah hose to you. You and Mick sit down, and he takes the hose first.

"Man, you have _got _to do something about that Oliver," she says. "I don't hate anyone, man, but he's got me close."

Mick hands the hose to you. "What happened, Daisy?"

"I come in, and he gets all upset about how I don't live here. I told him to chill out, that I used to live here, and I mentioned that I was friends with you two. But he said something about how you don't live here any more, which isn't true, because here you are. I don't dig liars, man."

"Daisy," Mick starts.

"Hold up," Daisy says. "Are we on another plain of existence, man? Are we crossing universes here? I saw and episode of _The Twilight Zone_ about this once. It's some spooky shit."

"No, Daisy," you say. "Oliver's a jerk, but he was right. We were all set to move out to California to be with you. But what's going on? What are you doing here?"

Daisy sighs. "It's just not the same out there. The whole group moved to New Mexico, and it's hot and flat and dull out there. My spirit guide was not amused with the change, man. So I told her to lead me where I needed to go, and she brought me back here."

Mick sighs. "Long story short, Daisy, we're not welcome here any more."

"I'm not one to pry," she says. "What do ya'll wanna do? Stay here? Go to California? The world's at our fingertips, man. I'll tag along if you want me."

XXX

Within the hour, you're hitchhiking on the way to God knows where. You pool your money, and that night, you stay in a cheap Motel in Kentucky. While Daisy is in the shower, you and Mick talk about what to do.

Her hair is soaking wet, dripping on the floor, as you sit down across from her. You and Mick know what needs to be said, but neither one of you wants to be the one to say it. Finally, you cave.

"Daisy," you say. "We're…"

"I know what you are," she says.

Mick looks as shocked as you feel. "And … and you understand?"

"Understand? I don't know if I understand, man. But there's a lot in this world I don't understand. All I know is the auras don't lie, and yours are intertwined like I've never seen them before. If you're asking if I hate you for it … You know I don't hate anyone. And especially not you two."

"I know it's fucked up," you say.

"Who's to say what's fucked up?" Daisy replies. "Doesn't polite society think we're _all_ fucked up?"

"You swear you don't hate us?" Mick asks. "We won't be offended. Really."

"You want me to prove it?" she asks.

She takes a jacket out of her bag, rolls it into a pillow, and lays down on the floor.

"You two take the bed."

* * *

So many disclaimers. Bob Dylan owns "Shelter From The Storm". Jimi Hendrix owns "Bold as Love". John Mayer does a cover version, yeah, but the rights are still in Jimi's name, I think. Lewis Carroll owns "Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland", and I have no ownership over the TV series "The Twilight Zone".

Now that that's over, there are only one or two chapters left! Reviews always make my day! :D


	9. Chapter 9

_Yes, and how many years can some people exist  
__Before they're allowed to be free?_

December 25, 1977. San Francisco, California.

You take another sip of your tea and stare at the Christmas tree. Mick's not big into the holidays because he thinks they're too commercial, but when he found out you wanted a tree, he went out and bought one without a second thought. It's not covered with ornaments and tinsel with a big star at the top like the ones your mother insisted on when you were growing up, but you don't care. That part of your life is behind you, and while Daisy taught you that it's good to remember it and learn from it, sometimes you wish you could put those memories out of your mind for good.

It doesn't consume you like it used to, but you do still think about Bob. You wonder how things would have been different if he lived. You wonder if you would have roomed together in college, rushed the same fraternity, and gone into business together like you planned. You wonder if he would have married Cherry Valence. You wonder if you would have ever come to terms with your feelings, or if you would have stayed quiet and married some girl and had kids like you were supposed to. And you wonder if that girl would have been Marcia. But then you think back to what Daisy told you before she ran off to live in that vegan commune in Tennessee a few years ago.

"Everyone's got a fate, man," she says. "It's all a part of a bigger picture. And you can what if and second-guess all you want, but it won't do you any good. It's already written, Randy. Everything that happens is exactly as it should be, and nothing can change that."

Sometimes it scares you, and you feel like you don't have any control over your life. But most of the time, it's comforting to know that no matter what, everything is going according to plan.

Through the paper-thin walls, you hear the bedsprings squeak as Mick sits up in the bed, and then you hear this footsteps head toward the living room.

"Randy?" he asks. You can tell by the sound of his voice that he's still mostly asleep. "What are you doing up?"

You motion for him to join you on the couch. He sits next to you and rests his head on your shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep," you say after a minute. "Thought I'd come look at our tree for a while."

"Glad we're getting our money's worth," Mick says. "They aren't cheap. And then a certain someone, who will remain nameless, wasn't home and I had to carry it up three stories by myself."

"I'm sure Santa took notice," you say.

"I'm sure he did, but he won't come because you were up too late," Mick says.

You laugh, and then it gets quiet. Mick kisses you on the cheek.

"Penny for your thoughts," he whispers in your ear.

"The usual," you say. "And I wish Daisy would write."

Mick knows what you mean and nods. "Knowing Daisy, she'll show up unexpected any day now, stay a few weeks, and then disappear again."

"Did you ever wonder if she wasn't real? Like if she was always talking about spirit guides and stuff because she actually _was_ a spirit guide? Maybe she was _our_ spirit guide."

The words sound stupid even as they're leaving your mouth, and Mick is looking at you like you just grew a second head.

"Did you smoke weed without me?" he asks.

The two of you burst out laughing. You kiss Mick's forehead once you've caught your breath. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, and you can tell that you got him thinking.

"Whatever she was, we had some crazy times with her," he says.

"The year in Vermont," you say. "Or when we tried to work for that fisherman in Florida, but after three days she talked us all into leaving because she was morally opposed to killing the fish."

"That one was probably for the best," Mick says. "He liked gutting the fish too much. I think he might have killed us if we stayed.

"She was the first person from the house in Tulsa who talked to me," you say. "She painted my face up all crazy the first day I met ya'll. Wish I had a picture."

"It was a good look for you. But I thought you were cute even when you would just sit under that tree in your fancy clothes and watch us like a creep," Mick teases.

"Shut up," you tease back at him.

There's a pause, and then Mick asks you, "you're happy out here, aren't you, Randy?"

"'Course I am. Best place I've lived so far. Ain't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am. I just wish…"

"I know. I know. Me too. But with the neighborhood coming together and Harvey getting elected to be a city supervisor… It's not great, Mick, but it's looking up. It's looking up more than if we had stayed in Tulsa, I think."

He nods. "I think you're right."

You sigh and finish the rest of your tea.

"Wanna go back to bed?" you ask.

"In a minute. I'm gonna have a cigarette," Mick replies.

"I'll go with you."

You step out onto the tiny slab of concrete that you could hardly call a porch, and Mick lights up his cigarette. His arm slips around your waist, and you lean into his hug.

There's so much that's still undecided, but as you look out at the lights of the city, all you feel is a sense of calm. Maybe things will never be perfect for you and Mick. Maybe you'll never be able to do better than this tiny third-floor walk up, and maybe you'll always be scraping to get by. But none of it seems to matter. You have Mick, you have a new group of good friends, and you have a slowly growing group of people who understand people like you. You know that you'll think about what if from time to time, but you really are happy. You're happier than you were with your family and your old rich friends back in Tulsa. You wouldn't go back to that life for anything. You know they wouldn't understand, but what you have now is so much better.

Mick puts out his cigarette, and you follow him inside the apartment and to the bedroom. You lay down next to him, and he wraps his arms around you.

"Love you," he says.

And you're not even slightly disgusted with yourself when you reply, "love you too."

_The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind.  
__The answer is blowin' in the wind._

* * *

__Bob Dylan owns _Blowin' in the Wind_.

Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far, and thanks to everyone who will review this chapter! I really do appreciate every single one of them. This is my first multi-chapter fic that I've completed, and the first thing I've written in second person POV and present tense, so the reviews helped a lot.

Thanks again. And stay tuned for more stories! :D


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